The Making of a Monster
by latelydreaming
Summary: Back when they'd first been genin, back when they'd taken the bell test, Kakashi-sensei had instructed Sakura to murder one of her teammates in order to keep the other alive. The answer had been obvious then, and it was still obvious now. Even if it wasn't quite what she'd expected. (Drabble. Slight AU. Two-shot.)
1. Chapter 1

_**The Making of a Monster**_

_latelydreaming_

**Author's Note: **This fic is a _slight_ AU; it's still the Narutoverse and nothing really changes in Part I, but in Shippuden little things start to change. Mostly Team Seven's reunion with Sasuke goes differently, because they _weren't_ actually looking for him.

* * *

Back when they'd first been genin, back when they'd taken the bell test, Kakashi-sensei had instructed Sakura to murder one of her teammates in order to keep the other alive.

She'd felt the cold sweat dripping down her back, felt the pressure of his eyes boring into her, demanding compliance, heard the order echoing in her mind–"_Sakura! Kill Naruto or Sasuke dies!_"–felt the weight of the decision–"_Naruto or Sasuke?_"–and had done the only thing she could: panicked and refused both choices.

Now, as she watched the two boys battle, the memory arose unbidden and she was again faced with the question.

"_Naruto or Sasuke?_"

She hadn't answered at the time. She hadn't needed to. They all knew. Still, she'd said nothing.

For Sasuke's sake: because if she didn't answer, he could continue pretending he didn't know about her feelings. He didn't have to acknowledge her. (She told herself he simply wasn't ready, but honestly, she was the one who was unprepared.)

For Naruto's sake: because it was one thing to know your crush would let you die; it was another to actually have them _do_ it. (She told herself she was being kind, but her silence was far crueler than the truth.)

For her own sake: because she didn't want to admit she was a monster.

But then everything had changed and Sasuke had left and Naruto had gone too and secrets had been uncovered and suddenly, it hadn't mattered anymore if she was a monster, because they all were in their own way.

The traitor, the jinchuuriki, and Sakura, who was sweet and little and innocent and naïve and _weak_ and as much a monster as either of them.

Back when she'd first been a chuunin, back when they'd accidentally run into Sasuke on a routine mission and the boys had attacked each other, Kakashi-sensei had again instructed her to murder a teammate to save the other's alive.

He'd been too injured to move; she'd been in the process of healing him, and even though he _knew_ she couldn't do it, he'd asked anyway. Because she was a shinobi and it was her duty and she _should_ do her duty, even when she _couldn't_.

And again she'd felt the cold sweat and his heavy stare and the pressure to comply and heard the order echo–"_Sakura! Kill Sasuke or Naruto dies!_"–and again she'd done nothing.

That time Sai had stepped in and created a distraction long enough for all of them to get away. This time there was no Sai, there was no Kakashi-sensei, there was only Sasuke and Naruto killing each other and her (always, always, _always_) doing nothing.

The boys were evenly matched. Had always been evenly matched. Even speed, even strength, even resolve... They were both determined to win or die trying. That was why they would both lose.

Unless.

Neither would win alone. They would both be defeated. But if someone else joined in... if someone helped one of them... one would win. One would die and one would win.

"_Sakura!_"

She still had an answer. It wasn't the one she'd expected, but it was an answer nonetheless.

They were evenly matched. They were perfectly balanced. But she could tip the scale. She could kill one of them. It wouldn't be hard. They were killing each other already.

She could kill one.

She could save one.

She could kill her heart.

She could become a monster.

Would she?

"Chidori!" Sasuke screamed, the deafening chirping following his charge across the field.

"Rasengan!" Naruto answered in kind, mirroring his opponent's advance.

"_Kill Sasuke or Naruto dies!_"

And Sakura made her choice.


	2. Chapter 2

_**The Making of a Monster**_

_latelydreaming_

**Author's Note:** On to the second part of this two-shot, and…. (Is it possible?!) It's even more depressing than the first! Cheers!

* * *

One month after he'd died. _One month after she'd killed him_. The guilt ate at her.

Naruto was doing well. As well as could be, anyway. Guilt? Check. Betrayal? Check. Anger? Check. Depression? Check. A multitude of friends to help him through? Check. He'd be all right.

She'd seen him smiling once when she'd passed him on the street. It looked nothing like the one he used to wear. She'd tried to stop him, to ask how he was, to apologize, _anything_, but he'd ignored her and walked away. She'd avoided him after that.

The healer in her wanted to hunt him down and embrace him and refuse to let go until he broke down and told her what was wrong, but she restrained herself. She'd probably only make it worse, anyway.

They hadn't held a funeral. They hadn't allowed _him_ to be buried within the village's walls either. She'd had to call in a favor for Ino to make the tomb. Earth was Ino's element. Sakura's was fire. Not much good for anything besides cremation (_and the Will of Fire, mustn't forget that, even when it doesn't matter_).

Only a few people had come to the burial, and those only for Naruto's sake. Most of them had been relieved to see _him_ dead. Truthfully, she was relieved too. She hated herself, but she was relieved. That only made the guilt worse.

If Kakashi-sensei was still alive, she would've gone to him about it. He knew all about guilt and grief and killing teammates. He'd managed to murder Obito twice after all, though admittedly the first time was through a misplaced sense of self-blame and the second was entirely justified. And then there was Rin.

But Kakashi-sensei was dead (the infection from the wound he'd received in his final fight with Obito had eaten him from the inside out, just like the guilt always had), and Obito was dead (oneChidori to the head was all it took, and the Chidori had been a gift bequeathed to Kakashi by Obito's own Sharingan), and Rin was dead (her protector had turned killer by necessity, by request, but then, Kakashi-sensei wasn't Naruto, he didn't always keep his word), and _he_ was dead (Sakura had tried so long and hard to capture his heart, and _this_ was the way she'd finally succeeded–with a kunai through his back), but Naruto was alive. More or less. Naruto didn't have _his_ blood on his hands (and he hadn't kept his word; he hadn't brought _him_ back, and he hadn't died trying).

The guilt was all hers. That was good enough.

She spent hours at _his_ grave every day. She'd rather have spent it staring at a name on a stone, but _he_ was anything but a hero.

She frequently alternated between continuous shifts at the hospital, missions, and drinking herself into a stupor with her shishou.

Her friends, already few and far between, (most of them were friend by association and Naruto wasn't associating with her anymore), were driven away by her antisocial demeanor and preoccupance with her medical studies and training.

Communication dwindled to grunts and nods.

She started taking walks daily in the forest outside the village.

She made it a habit to put some sort of tomato flavoring in every meal and began avoiding sweets on principle.

Her apartment (which had once been kept mostly neat, but still messy enough to look lived in) became excessively clean, every article of clothing carefully folded and placed in a drawer, each artifact pristinely tucked away into a closet or cabinet or shelf. The furniture was, at all times, thoroughly dusted and fluffed, the floor was always swept, and the tables and walls positively sparkled.

She remembered her initial shock when she'd first seen _his_ room. It had been just after he'd defected; Naruto, Shikamaru, and the rest of the team were out on the mission to retrieve him, and she'd been part of the team searching his home for evidence of his defection or kidnapping (they hadn't determined which at that point, and she had kept her mouth shut, hoping to keep him out of trouble). She'd wondered how anyone could bear to live in a place so clinical and sterile. His room had surpassed simple organization and achieved meticulous perfection. Later, she'd read in a book on psychology that sometimes children who'd undergone a traumatic experience would develop a compulsive _need_ to keep their homes obsessively clean–something about exerting control on their environment to compensate for their lack of control during the ordeal. In any case, she'd never understood it then. Now, though, she felt she did somewhat. At the very least, it served as an excellent distraction.

The most ostensible change, however, was her new weapon. She carried _his_ chokuto with her everywhere, never mind that she had absolutely no kenjutsu training. It was no eye, but then, Tsunade-shishou had confiscated those the second Sakura had returned to the village.

Still, she didn't let herself forget. She _couldn't_ let herself forget. Time kept moving forward, but she lived in the past. She lived in the guilt. It was surprisingly easy. She'd learned from the best, of course.

Sometimes, after she visited _his_ grave, she'd stop by the stone to talk to Kakashi-sensei a bit. She liked to believe he could hear her. She hoped he did. It was nice to think someone understood.

_Hey look, sensei. I can self-destruct too_.


End file.
